


the night lingers

by Elysabeth



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Neil gets beaten up, TFC secret santa 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysabeth/pseuds/Elysabeth
Summary: There are things you only consider at night. For Andrew, it's helping a boy with a pretty face. He sort of gets a cat in exchange.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wesninskis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesninskis/gifts).



> for my secret santa wesninkis!!
> 
> sorry buddy, i'm late... i do hope you'll like it! i mixed two of your prompts together, Neil getting beat up and daemon's au
> 
> for reference:  
> [Andrew's daemon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eurasian_eagle-owl)  
> [Neil's daemon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastern_coyote)

Andrew watches the smoke curl over his head as he blows it out. It's a slow night. At 3 am on a Tuesday night during exams period, there isn't much to do for a bouncer.

He hears shouts and vicious laughter in a perpendicular narrow alley on his right. He glances at Tania, his daemon, perched gingerly on a streetlamp. She hoots, and flies away in a fluttering of wings. Her eyes almost glow in the low light of the night.

She sends him mental images of the scene. A boy is slumped on the wall, but his head is held high and defiant as three men shower him in punches and kicks.

Andrew throws his cigarette on the floor, pushes himself off the wall.

Three heads turn toward him when he enters the alley. Three men, dressed in baggy jeans, golden chain, and snapback leer at him. He tries to be interested, but they are bland. Their daemons, two dogs and a hyena, are making small groans behind them. Dull animals.

The boy, however, catches Andrew's attention. He can't be much younger than Andrew, maybe one or two years. He has a pretty face, with sharp, defined features. Even beaten and bloodied, his muscles are coiled, as if ready to bolt at any moment.

"What do you want?" One of the men says. "Want a turn at beating him up?" He's missing a teeth. Andrew wonders briefly how many others he can make him lose in one punch.

"No," he refuses. "What did he do?"

"He stole from us."

The boy receives another kick to the stomach to spice the words. He curls on himself with a pained groan. When he raises his head again, he looks no better than a scared kid. He holds himself hunched, his arms around himself. His lips are trembling.

"It wasn't me, I swear," he defends himself, with a broken voice. Tears start to fall from his eyes. "You got the wrong guy!"

He sends a pathetic and pleading look to Andrew. It doesn't sway him, except for the little spark of interest that lighten at the back of his mind. The boy's acting skill are good.

"Shut up, fag!" A thug spits, and throws him back on the damp floor.

Andrew is on him in two strides, pressing his pocket knife to his throat. He can feel the ragged, fearful and disgusting breath of the fiend on his face. "You will let him go, now," he warns.

The man gulps. "Or what? We are three against one."

"Or I will kill you," Andrew says, simply, pressing his knife harder against his throat.

The alley is silent for a moment. "Fine," the man eventually agrees.

Andrew retracts his knife, but keeps it in his hand, ready to strike if they try anything. They don't. What a bunch of cowards. He looks at them scurry away like cockroaches and almost regrets his decision to keep them alive.

"Thank you," the boy says with a watery smile.

Andrew puts his knife back in his armband. "Stop the bullshit."

For a second, the boy blinks at him, and Andrew wonders if he pegged him wrong. But suddenly, a grin grows on his face, sharp and bloody. "Thought you'd really kill him, for a moment," he says, tilting his head.

"I thought about it."

The boy stands up. He almost stumbles and catches himself on the wall, swearing under his breath. He collects his bag, thrown on the floor a few meters away.

Andrew looks around. The boy seems to be alone. "Where's your daemon?" He asks, unable to contain his curiosity. This boy is an enigma, and Andrew has always liked puzzles.

The boy shrugs. He wipes, his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Don't know."

"Are you a witch?"

The boy snorts. "You are the one with a bird daemon," he points out, glancing at Tania, perched on a roof. Andrew is not surprised by his evasion of the question.

"You look like shit," he says, instead of pursuing his line of questioning. He doubts he'll get an answer and he doesn't need it now.

"Damn, and Chanel is looking for a new model," the boy sasses him. "Guess I missed my chance." He throws his bag over his shoulder and starts to limp away.

Andrew is considering how much trouble killing him would be. "I have a first aid kit," he says instead.

The boy stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulders. His eyes dart away, and Andrew knows this look. He is checking for a way to flee as fast as possible. "I'm not a prostitute," the boy counters.

Andrew notes the word he chose. Not whore, but prostitute. The way he pronounces it is devoid from any disgust. It's just an information. _I'm not a prostitute_.

"I'm not looking for one."

"Then what do you want?" Provocative, fearless.

Interesting.

"Company. And a name."

The boy hums. "You first."

"Andrew."

The boy hums. He thinks for a moment. "Theo." Andrew stares at him, perfectly aware of the fact that this name is not his true name. The boy shrugs. "You asked for something you can call me, right? You can call me Theo."

__

  
Theo's gaze flickers around the apartment. "Quite austere."

"There is a couch. You can sleep on it," Andrew says, as he hangs up his coat. Tania comes to stand on one of the chairs, close to the window. It's her favorite place. She watches Theo like a hawk. Which is quite ironic, as she is an owl.

Theo seems reluctant to enter, his hands holding on his bag. With another suspicious look around, he sits on the couch, his bag at his feet. "Why did you let me come? Aren't you afraid I'm going to kill you?"

Andrew snorts, taking in Theo's scrawny figure. Theo makes a face. "I'd gladly see you try."

Theo rolls his eyes and settles a bit more comfortably in the couch. "I'm dangerous," he pouts.

Andrew can't shake the image of a tiny wet cat hissing bloody murder from his mind.

"I found you getting beat up by three thugs."

"I did steal from them."

Andrew levels him with a stare. Theo fidgets uncomfortably. "Do I look like I care?"

"You don't want to know what it is?"

"No. I'm going to sleep."

He promptly leaves his living room, living a disgruntled Theo on the sofa.

__

He wakes up a little after 10 from a nightmare. He pads to his bedroom door, unlocks it. It seems no one has tried to open the door.

He doesn't find Theo on the sofa. He can't say he is surprised.

A gush a of cold air passing through the room makes him look at the window. He finds him on his tiny balcony, his arms around his knees, talking quietly to what seems like a dog at first.

Coming closer, he realizes it is a coyote. A rather big coyote with a bright fur, leaning toward orange.

"I do hope this is your daemon, as I will throw it over the railing if it isn't," he warns, even though he knows the coyote is a daemon.

"Charming," the coyote says, Andrew doesn't miss the slight British accent.

Theo tilts his head toward his daemon. "This is Lillian," he introduces the daemon.

Tania, although she is a nocturnal creature, decides to come inspect the commotion. "Pathetic," she comments at the way Theo and his daemon seem to hurdle for warmth. "A simple blanket would have sufficed."

Andrew decides he has had enough, and comes back in to prepare breakfast.

Theo comes sit at the table. He ignores him. Tania seems quite interested with Lillian, staring intensely.

"Looks good," Theo says. Andrew turns around to look at him. He is smiling, slightly. On his cheekbone, a purple bruise is blossoming. His sweater still has blood stains. It's a ratty and old thing anyway.

"You are disgusting," Andrew points out. "Go take a shower. You can take my clothes, I don't care."

Theo blinks. "I don't-"

"Shut up," Andrew cuts him off. "You clean or you don't eat."

Theo frowns, looking longingly at the eggs in the pan. Eventually he stands up. "Fine."

His daemon stays curled up at the table's foot, watching Andrew. He is almost certain Theo wouldn't accept to shower if his daemon wasn't keeping an eye on him.

Andrew can't fault him.

Theo comes back wearing an old stretched hoodie of Andrew's, and jeans who hug his thighs in a flattering way. He has nice legs.

They eat breakfast in silence.

Andrew is not surprised to see Theo gone by the time he comes back from his shower.

__

The second time, Theo steps through the window in the middle of the night. It's Andrew's day off.

"The prodigal son is back," Andrew comments.

Theo blinks. "Sorry, Dad, I wasn't aware I had a curfew."

Andrew calculates how high the window is, living on the third floor. The fall would kill Theo, he thinks.

He winces as he sits on the couch. "You are hurt," Andrew notes, voice flat. He doesn't really care.

"Got into a fight," Theo says.

Andrew stared at him. "Who did you piss of this time?"

"No one that concerns you."

"Is little Theo in danger?" Andrew sneers.

"It's Stephan actually, now," Theo ― Stephan ―, corrects.

"Don't care." Andrew grabs the edge of Stephan's shirt, pauses a second. Stephan doesn't move. He pulls it up. On Stephan's side, a gash mares the skin. It is shallow and doesn't look life-threatening but it is still bleeding. "Needs stitches."

Stephan frowns. His hands curl up in his shirt, pulled to his chest. "No hospital."

"I don't want you fucking bleeding on my couch."

"It's an Ikea couch."

"Fuck you." They stare at each other for a second. Stephan's eyes are a muddy brown. "I'll stich you up."

"You?" Stephan snorts. And winces. Karma.

"My brother is studying medicine."

"You aren't."

"I got into a lot of fight."

Stephan's gaze rakes down Andrew. "Fine. It can't be worse than it is now."

Andrew finds a bottle of whisky in his cupboard, hands it to Stephan. He takes it and stares at it. He doesn't drink.

Andrew has given him the bottle, he considers he has done his job.

He gets the first aid kit, a gift from his brother and cousin, and the necessary supplies for sewing. He's never been particularly good, but at least his couch will be clean.

It's white for fuck's sake.

Stephan decides to go without whiskey, which Andrew thinks is quite a shame. It is good whiskey. Stephan grunts in pain when Andrew sets to work.

"I think I might be dying seriously," he laughs, his face pale. His lip is almost bloody from how hard he's been biting it.

"You are not," Andrew says, and cuts the string. "Stop being a drama queen."

Later, Stephan passes out on the couch, curled up around a pillow. Andrew hears scratching on his door. He finds Lillian waiting. He wonders how the daemon could even enter the building.

He opens the door further. The daemon slips inside and lays by the couch. Andrew throws a cover on Stephan and goes to sleep.

He's gone again by morning.

____

Jake (or Theo, or Stephan, or Lucas, or one of the various names he has given him) is a bit like a cat. He always enters through the window. Andrew lives on the third floor, and is still confused on how he manages to reach his balcony. He comes, sometimes hurt, sometimes not, gets fed, stays the night, and is gone by the time Andrew wakes up.

His visits are never regular.

Jake is lounging on the couch, again. He seems to have made it his own over the three months he's been passing through. He looks comfortable in a way he was never at the beginning. He has taken off his shoes, and watches the tv, absentmindly scratching behind Lillian's ear.

Andrew stares at the coyote. "What is Lillian?"

Jake blinks at him. His roots are showing, a reddish brown. Andrew knows his eyes are not brown either, but he doesn't really care.

"A coyote," Jake says, as if the question was stupid.

Andrew crosses his arms. "Thank you, I hadn't seen it. I have an appointment with an ophthalmologist later this week."

"What do you mean then?" Jake asks, looking slightly irritated.

"What gender? You never said."

Jake shrugs. "Lillian doesn't have a gender. They don't care." Lillian makes a humming sound. Andrew interprets it as a noise of agreement. "Why do you ask?"

"Why the fuck are they on my couch? This is disgusting."

Jake's eyes widen, and for a moment, Andrew thinks he angered him. But no, Jake brings a hand to his mouth, his eyes crinkle, and his shoulders shake. He is laughing.

Andrew can't get the sight off his mind for the rest of the day and night, and he breaks two coffee cups in his rage.

___

Max is pretty, Andrew thinks, definitely not for the first time. He's taken off his lenses, and is looking at Andrew with unimpressed blue eyes.

"Is that what all you wanted?" He sneers, standing on the balcony. He is blocked from entering by Andrew and Tania. The owl is standing on Andrew's shoulder.

"No." Andrew takes his wrist. Max flinches, as he often does when Andrew touches him by surprise. Andrew presses an object in the palm of his hand.

Max's eyes knit together, and he looks down. He opens his hand, stares at the key. "What– A key?"

"Excellent observation, my dear Watson," Andrew quips.

Max shakes his head. "Why did you give it to me?"

"Because I want you to enter by the fucking door."

Max brushes a finger along the contour of the key. He looks a bit mesmerized. "Thank you," he says, awfully genuine. It makes something squirm in Andrew's stomach. He doesn't like it.

"Don't cry. I know a great place to hide a body."

Neil makes a little wet snort and smiles, all sharp teeth and cold eyes. "I'm harder to kill than you think."

They don't talk again about the key.

__

Lillian and Tania squabble often. Sometimes, Tania will fly just out of reach and Lillian will try to catch her, their jaw closing on thin air.

Other times, it's the other way around, Lillian making small happy noises as they duck under the chair to avoid getting caught.

It's a bit surprising, but all in all, quite amusing to watch.

One thing for sure, you can never find one without the other.

It is an odd sight, Andrew muses, a coyote quietly sleeping under an owl's wing.

Andrew does not consider himself a touchy person. Daniel is even less. Andrew hasn't missed the way he always stands right out of reach.

Tania and Lillian are always touching. Poking, pushing, scratching, just standing in each other's space. It irks Andrew and makes something loosen inside him.

"Did you name Tania?" Daniel asks from his seat at the kitchen table.

Andrew serves himself a cup of coffee. "A name for a name."

"I gave you a name."

"You gave me an alias."

Daniel fixes his startingly blue eyes on Andrew. He never wears his lenses anymore here. "I don't have one."

"So dramatic, " Andrew says." Choose one, I'll call you that."

Daniel — can he even be called that anymore? — tilts his head toward Lillian. They come, kneel at his feet.

Tania perches herself on the counter and keeps an eye on Lillian, as she always seems to do these days.

Daniel and Lillian talk to each other. Andrew can't understand what they say. He thinks it's French.

Eventually, the boy smiles and pats Lillian's head. He looks up at Andrew. "Neil. I'd like you to call me Neil."

"I did," Andrew answers the original question.

"Why?"

"Why I named her?"

"No. Why Tania? "

"Why Neil?"

"It's one of the only name I associate with good memories. "

"Tania is a nickname. Her name is Titania." Neil blinks at him, apparently confused. "Can you even read? It's from a Midsummer Night's Dream by Shakespeare."

"Oh," Neil says, and chuckles. The sound is a bit hesitant, like he is not used to it.

Andrew hates it.  
__

Two weeks later, he comes home at 5am to find Neil asleep on the couch.

The boy, a light sleeper, wakes up at the sound of the door, smiles sleepily at him, all soft and gentle. He has a new scar, cutting his mouth in a vertical line. Andrew finds himself wanting to kiss it.

"You are staring," Neil says, clearly amused. "Is there something on my face?"

"Your face is fine," he grumbles, annoyed with himself.

"Aw, do you like my face? " Neil teases.

"No," Andrew answers. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't kiss you."

Neil makes a little spluttering sound, turning slowly red. Andrew watches him, vaguely interested in how far down his blushing goes.

"Okay," Neil says.

"Are you even interested in guys?"

"No," Neil admits truthfully. "I'm not interested in girls either. I'm interested in you, though."

Andrew groans. He crosses the room in two steps. "Don't touch," he warns.

Neil dutifully folds his hands behind his back, looking up at Andrew.

Andrew kisses him. Neil is a bit inexperienced but definitely eager. He hums in the kiss, a content, happy sound.

When they break apart, he grins widely. "We should do that again."

Andrew rolls his eyes and pushes him off the couch. Neil laughs from his landing place on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> i am certain Andrew makes posters with a picture of Neil and written 'is this your cat? it is trying to infiltrate my home, come get it or i'll burn it"
> 
> merry christmas!!


End file.
